Return of the Secret Heir. Rachel Bailey

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СКАЧАТЬ swallowed. “How did you get my number?”

      “You’d be surprised how resourceful I can be when I set my mind to it.”

      Actually, not much surprised her about this man at all. “First a visit and now a call. Must be my lucky day.”

      He chuckled. “Still got your smart mouth, I see.”

      She carefully put the booties back in the box and replaced the lid, shutting the door to their past. “Why are you calling?”

      “You didn’t answer my question at the office.”

      She turned her mind back to when—only hours ago—he’d sauntered back into her life. She could barely remember anything other than those vibrant green eyes fringed by long, dark lashes and his crooked smile, let alone an unanswered question. “You’ll need to remind me.”

      “I asked for your assurance that you won’t prejudice Warner’s sons against me, even unintentionally through your own bias, during this challenge.”

      She frowned. She hadn’t thought that question had needed an answer. That he’d know her better than that. “Why would I be prejudiced?”

      There was a pause on the line. “Things didn’t end so well between us,” he said, the brashness not as strong in his voice.

      “JT, regardless of what you might think, I don’t bear you any ill will. Besides, I’m a professional and I’ll carry out my duties as executor thoroughly, regardless of my personal feelings.”

      Her ethics demanded no less. She had her obligations to the firm’s clients, and if Warner Bramson really was JT’s father, the last thing she’d want was to create more obstacles for JT. She would stay neutral, and simply carry out her duties.

      “Then meet with me,” he said, voice pure temptation. “Now. Tonight.”

      A shiver rippled across her skin. Meet with him again? “No.”

      “Why not?”

      Because you’re a danger to my equilibrium. Because you bring out the worst in me and I’ve worked far too hard to become the person I want to be. Because seeing you brings up memories of our baby and I can’t handle any more right now. But she wouldn’t risk letting him inside her head by telling him any of that.

      She rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes, trying to erase the memories he’d already evoked. “Because there’s no reason to meet.”

      “We need to set some ground rules so we’re on the same page during this situation. Meet me once and I’ll leave you alone.”

      She sighed. There was a logic to that. She had a few ground rules of her own, starting with no unannounced visits to her office. Make that no visits to her office at all. Her bid to make partner of the firm needed no surprises, no new connections between her and JT Hartley.

      Still, was it worth the risk of seeing him alone? Would Ted Howard understand that one more contact might be in the best interests of keeping her distance? She let out a breath. “JT …”

      “Just once, princess,” he said, voice as smooth as warm caramel.

      Her heart clenched tight as a fist. When she’d been sixteen, she’d loved the way he’d called her princess—reverentially, tenderly. Now she was a grown woman and he was a virtual stranger, his saying it that way—and making everything inside her melt a little—was too much, too intimate. Another entry for the list of ground rules.

      Maybe they did need to meet just once….

      Dislodging Winston from her lap, she shoved the shoe box to the back of the cupboard, then leaned back against the wall. “Where?”

      “Your office or mine. Your choice.”

      Low key would be best while she decided what she’d tell Ted Howard about this. If JT came back to her office, word would spread around the firm that she’d again met with the claimant to the estate she was responsible for without the will’s beneficiaries’ permission. The same possibility was there if she went to his office because it was in a prominent building downtown—a place she’d always avoided. She silently groaned. Only one option presented itself to keep this private.

      “My apartment in half an hour.” She gave him the address, knowing she’d regret it later. Hell, she regretted it now.

      “I’ll be there.”

      “This is a onetime deal, JT,” she said, then disconnected and thumped her head back on the wall behind her.

      She’d agreed to let the devil into her home.

      Two

      At the deep hum of a motorbike pulling up on her street, Pia drew the curtain to the side, her pulse chaotic. JT sat with his strong, long legs astride the machine as he switched off the engine. Under the light of a streetlamp, he kicked down the side stand with a heavy boot and unbuckled the helmet, exposing his hair to the breeze. When he swung his leg over the side, she pressed a hand to her stomach to ease the flutters of trepidation.

      JT arriving on a motorbike, stirring up memories. He was kitted up for a ride, looking sexy as hell…. About to march into her home. She groaned and rested her head against the windowpane. This had to be the stupidest idea she’d ever had.

      The bike was a different model from the one he’d ridden when they were teenagers—that bike had been scrappy and built from bits he’d scavenged and traded. This one was sleek and silver and looked like it cost as much as her garden apartment.

      From the ground floor window, she watched him make his way up the path to the apartment complex’s foyer and—heart lunging at her ribs—she buzzed him in.

      Seconds later, she opened the front door to JT, larger than life in his black riding jacket zipped to his neck, dark jeans, boots and rumpled hair. She almost melted into the floor. He bore little resemblance to the man who’d been in her office this morning. He was more disheveled. Reckless. More like the young JT who’d stolen her heart and her virginity. She shivered.

      “Nice bike,” she said in a voice she hoped was casual.

      Looking around her living room, he unzipped his jacket to reveal a form-fitting white T-shirt, then slipped his arms from the coat and folded it over a forearm. “An MV Agusta. Haven’t ridden it in a while. It seemed somehow … appropriate.” One corner of his mouth hitched up around the small scar above his lip. She remembered his receiving that scar when he came off his bike doing a daredevil stunt that had scared her silly. And she remembered kissing the healed scar in the heat of passion.

      Dragging her eyes from his face, she held out her hand. “I’ll hang up your jacket.”

      “I appreciate the hospitality,” he said drily and handed it over.

      Ignoring the barb about her reluctance to meet with him, she walked over to the coat stand. The jacket was warm with his body heat and she held it a moment too long before hanging it, then ironed her damp palms down her trousers and turned back to him.

      He stood, dominating her СКАЧАТЬ